


Hey Asshole, What's Your Sign?

by knightlyss



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, and all this for a muffin, bellamy's an asshole and clarke is deaf, coffee shop AU, i don't even know why this turned out the way it did, making up for previous angst possibly, mentions of others - Freeform, you can imagine the rest basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightlyss/pseuds/knightlyss
Summary: He's made it to 22 despite numerous hardships, including, but not limited to: His mother dying just after he turned 18, losing custody of his sister despite being more than capable of taking care of her, being kicked out of his student flat by his roommates, even though he's the only one that pays rent on time, and actually failing a class back when he was still in high school. Chemistry or not, that one still stings.
Which is why that that muffin is his, dammit.
 
'you've taken the last muffin five times now cut it out' coffee shop au





	

 

 

The thing is, Bellamy knows he's a bit of a bitter asshole.

 

He's made it to 22 despite numerous hardships, including, but not limited to: His mother dying just after he turned 18, losing custody of his sister despite being more than capable of taking care of her, being kicked out of his student flat by his roommates, even though he's the only one that pays rent on time, and actually failing a class back when he was still in high school. Chemistry or not, that one still stings.

 

Which is why that that muffin is his, dammit.

 

He's been eyeing it from his place in line at Lincoln's coffee shop, deciding to treat himself to something nice after yet another shitty day of trying to make something of himself. He's known since he was five that he wanted to be a history teacher, but the journey is far from easy, no matter how interested and invested you are in any and all things surrounding said subject.

 

Luckily, him and Lincoln have more or less passed the awkward antagonistic stage in the beginning of their relationship in terms of Octavia. It's quickly become clear that they both love her very much, and a guy who basically competes with him for his sister's affection can't be all bad in the end.

 

Besides, Lincoln's coffee could probably bring about World Peace.

 

It's that good.

 

Bellamy's pretty sure the secret ingredient is something stupid like love, but he's not about to question his number one source of caffeine intake, instead shuffling steadily along as the line narrows down to just the one guy in front of him. One cookie and large cappuccino later, he finally arrives in front of his future brother-in-law, the genuine smile beginning to widen automatically.

 

Damn him and his good heart and his fantastic coffee.

 

“Hey,” Lincoln greets him warmly, giving off a pleasant smile of his own, reaching over the counter to give a one armed hug. Before Bellamy can give his order though, Lincoln seems to realize that things have quieted down around them. He gives an apologetic smile, heading towards the cookie display. “I'll be right back,” he promises, as he grabs the last muffin, placing it on a small plate and heading towards the back of the shop.

 

Resigned, Bellamy's eyes follow him until his precious muffin ends up on a table belonging to a blonde girl, currently sketching and wearing headphones. Lincoln has to wave his hand in front of her to get her attention, and he barely keeps himself from chuckling when her head shoots up suddenly, caught by surprise at the gentle giant trying to get her attention. He sees her sheepishly remove one earbud, hearing a faint apology from her, followed by a thank you and a request for another cup of chai tea. Lincoln gives her a thumbs up and heads back to the counter, where Bellamy tries desperately not to look like he's too disappointed about that stupid muffin.

 

“All right, I'm back,” Lincoln smiles, and Bellamy lifts a hand to wave him off.

 

“Don't worry about it,” Bellamy says, even as he feels his stomach sink with the need to look behind him.

 

He really wanted that muffin.

 

For now, one of the cookies will do, though, he thinks to himself as he places the order.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Except, the cookie will have to do for the next five or so times he decides to go for another round of the World's Best Coffee™.

 

Three out of those times, he's too late, arriving in line and noticing that the last muffin is already gone. Two out of those three times he's allowed himself to look down towards the back to find the blonde looking just as she always does: earbuds in, sketching, a muffin and a cup of tea surrounding her.

 

It shouldn't be as annoying as it is, but it's a really good muffin. There's a really good reason why there's only one left when Bellamy finally makes it to the coffee shop.

 

Where Lincoln makes the best coffee, his sister Luna has to be the best baker he's ever encountered.

 

She somehow always manages to bake everything just right every single time, to the point where he's yet to actually taste some of the other pastries and goods she makes, simply because they are so popular that they're always gone by the time he finally arrives. He's really not a people person, so the fact that he's prepared to sacrifice the better part of an hour, maybe even two, should tell you just how good those damn muffins are.

 

After all, they're chocolate flavored.

 

It's a particular rainy day, complete with drenched clothing, accidentally dropping a student's papers in a puddle on his way back from school, and a phone call from Octavia that explains she's not coming round for the weekend after all because of homework, leaving the only thing waiting for him at home a crappy, empty apartment. The only reason his mood hasn't turned completely sour is the promise of fantastic coffee and an equally fantastic muffin.

 

He finally enters the coffee shop, shivering from the chilly September rain, taking a look around and finding the place thankfully empty. Anya, the scariest employee Bellamy has ever known, takes one look at him and rolls her eyes, turning away from the counter and getting started on the ridiculously strong coffee she always makes him. He secretly loves it, but he'd never let her know that.

 

Automatically, his eyes seek out the cookie display, scanning the pathetic remainder.

 

No muffin.

 

Suppressing a groan, he tilts his head back and closes his eyes briefly, feeling irritation flare up inside him. Is it too much to ask that luck be on his side just this once?

 

Apparently so, if the little cough somewhere behind him is to be believed. Slowly, brow furrowing, he turns to scan the previously-thought-empty shop, coming upon the regular blonde sitting in the back like always, accompanied by an empty cup and a plate with a muffin.

 

A whole muffin that she hasn't even touched in the few minutes he's been here.

 

Pissed off doesn't even begin to cover what he's feeling, and before he really knows what he's doing, he's at her table.

 

“Are you going to eat that?” he snaps, eyebrow raised. She unsurprisingly ignores him, lost in her world of blaring music and sketches littered all over the table. There's a rim of dried tea on a particularly detailed sketch of a child on a swing, smiling with his legs in the air. He counts to five before he reaches out and pulls out one of her earbuds, causing her to jump violently in her seat and stare at him in shock.

 

“I said, are you going to eat that?”

 

“Wh-what?” she sputters, face going pale and looking at him with what he can only conclude as a mixture of surprise and fright. He tries (and fails) to calm himself, pressing his lips together in a thin line before starting over.

 

“I asked you if you were going to eat your damn muffin, miss I'm-too-absorbed-in-my-own-spoiled-world-to-pay-any-attention-to-the-other-patrons.” She stares at him, her jaw slowly falling open in an 'O', her eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. She tries to speak, but he beats her to it, far from done with his rapid-fire rant.

 

“Look, no offense, but I've been coming here for a lot longer than you, and every single time you're here, I don't get my muffin. I don't know what game you think you're playing, but practically the only thing good in my life right now is that muffin, so I'd appreciate it if you stopped stealing the fucking thing.”

 

He doesn't even realized how close he is to her face until he catches himself leaning over the table, feeling some of her sketches crinkle under his hands. She's still staring at him with shock and confusion, blinking a few times.

 

“Could you repeat that?” she finally asks in a surprisingly small voice.

 

“Why? Are you fucking deaf?”

 

“Yes, actually, I fucking am,” she retorts, some color returning to her cheeks as she allows herself to get up from the table.

 

He stares.

 

Blinks.

 

Stares again.

 

“You're kidding,” he finally says, his voice cracking at the last syllable.

 

Ironically enough, she apparently can't hear that. She probably would have gotten a kick out of it.

 

“No, I am not kidding,” she says calmly, breaking eye contact and starting to stuff all her belongings into her bag, leaving him to stare hopelessly, feeling his face slowly growing warm. She grabs the muffin from the table, slings her bag over her shoulder, and stares him straight in the eye, “But I can read lips, asshole.”

 

He's fucked up.

 

He's fucked up so royally, it's not even funny.

 

Before he can apologize for his behavior, she's turned around and marched out the door, straight into the continuing downpour. She takes a few steps before changing her mind, abruptly turning around and walking straight back in and throwing the muffin at him. It hits him square in the face and lands pathetically at his feet, and he stares at it, then her. Her hands move at rapid speed, ending with an obscene-looking gesture before she's out the door again, disappearing down the street.

 

“That means _Here's your muffin, dickhead_ ,” Anya says, and he spins in place to see her at the counter, looking more amused than anything. Lincoln stands behind her with a disapproving glare that could rival that of his own.

 

“Dude-”

 

“I know.”

 

“What the fu-”

 

“ _I know_.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

When it comes to atoning for his sins, Lincoln is a godsend.

 

Her name is Clarke Griffin, and she's currently living on Lincoln's couch until she can get her own place, hence her constant lounging around in the coffee shop. She's 20 years old and an unemployed artist. She likes vanilla chai tea just as much as he likes chocolate muffins.

 

Three years ago she was in a car crash with her dad. Specific details are murky because of head trauma complications. Her dad never made it, and she sustained severe injuries to her inner ear, after hitting her head. She lost her hearing completely in less than a month, subsequently dropping out of school, and giving up her dreams of becoming a doctor.

 

She's cut herself off from her mother, which explains why she doesn't have a place to live. She's too angry and proud to ask for help in affording hearing aids.

 

In terms of crappy lives, she's definitely winning, and he's definitely and asshole.

 

He calls in sick the next morning, turning up at the coffee shop some time before eleven am. Lincoln sees him coming in the door and nods in greeting, inclining his head towards the back after, and Bellamy feels his heart jump into his throat. Of course Clarke is already there.

 

Daring to take a peek in her direction, he sees that she's once again deeply absorbed in her sketching, a steaming cup of tea next to a plate.

 

She's switched to carrot cake.

 

He takes a deep breath and wills his feet to move towards her table, coming to a stop a few feet away. He can hear the music from her headphones blaring from here, and catches himself thinking if the vibrations of the music actually hurt what little remains of her functioning ear. Clearing his throat, he takes the final steps to the table, reaching out and tapping his fingers against the surface. She catches sight of it and looks up, the frown quickly replaced with annoyance, leans back in her seat, staring him down.

 

“ _Hi, dickhead_ ,” she signs, which, OK, he definitely deserves that one.

 

“ _Hi_ ,” he signs back, causing her eyebrow to raise just a little. He uses the excuse to sit down at the table, eyes on her the entire time, and starts moving his hands. Lincoln and Anya are by no means masters of sign language, but they are better than Bellamy by default, and he dearly hopes the quick lesson he got the previous evening pays off.

 

“ _I'm sorry_ ,” he signs, forming a fist and rubbing the knuckles on his chest in a circular motion. Clarke stares, looking intrigued, and frankly, a little amused too. He uses that as a chance to continue, fumbling his way through what he hopes is actual words, creating a circle with his thumb resting on top of the forefinger, letting the rest of the fingers poke out while he's turning his hand towards her. She doesn't react, and he tries not to panic, thinking frantically of the other word Anya had taught him for _asshole_.

 

She snorts at him and starts moving her hands way too quick for him to follow with his very limited knowledge, and he tries not to look like a complete idiot once she's finished, looking expectantly at him.

 

“I'm sorry, could you repeat that?”

 

“Why? Are you deaf?”

 

He winces at the familiarity of the words thrown straight back at him, catching her eye.

 

“No, but I really am an asshole,” he admits, to which she actually laughs. It's the most glorious sound he's ever heard since the first time he heard Octavia make such a sound, and it makes a smile of his own break out, despite how melancholy it makes him feel. Does she miss the sound of her own laugh?

 

“I really am sorry. Yesterday was a really bad day,” he explains, catching the way her laugh turns into a smug smile.

 

“You did look like you'd drowned,” she admits with a chuckle.

 

“Thanks,” he says, signing it at the same time. She smiles wide and signs right back.

 

“ _You're welcome_.”

 

He laughs, and for a moment, they're just two people in a coffee shop. The only two, he reminds himself, turning in his seat and looking towards the counter, where Anya is once again working. She gives him a fairly unimpressed look, taking a sip of her murderous coffee, and he can hear her slurping from where he's sitting.

 

Shaking his head, he turns back around to find her watching him calmly, smiling a little shyly as they make eye contact. He quickly reminds himself of why he wanted to go back in the first place.

 

“I was hoping I could make it up to you.”

 

“Oh?” She looks a little confused, and it's beyond adorable. He's so fucked. “What did you have in mind?”

 

“Well, I was hoping you'd want to go out for dinner,” he says, deliberately forcing himself to slow down so she can catch all the words and not see how nervous he is. In truth, he's wanted to bolt out of there ever since he stepped inside, but she deserves more than a half-assed apology. She's nice. Unfortunately, she frowns at him, and he feels his heart sink a little. She's gonna say no, and why does that already bother him so much?

 

“It's a little too early for dinner.”

 

She pushes her plate towards him suddenly, placing the fork on top of it. Her face looks hopeful and childish, and he swears to himself that he will make her smile as often as he can.

 

“Want to steal my carrot cake instead?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a quickie, so don't even ask how it came about. I'm not sure I even know. As always, no beta


End file.
